Oh, but he did do that.
And incidentally, I've been dying to use that Harold and Kumar quote for a legitimate reason.
Undoubtedly moved by my post about the Wiggles, Neil Patrick Harris, lovingly known to many in my generation as Doogie Howser M.D., has come out of the proverbial closet and announced his sexuality to the world.
Actually, he was "lanced", according to Lance Bass' incredibly hot boyfriend. I love it when someone comes up with a new term like that. Good on you, Reichen.
I bet he feels better. I know I do. I had my suspicions as he generally plays womanizer roles these days, which gets my gaydar a bleepin'. It's like guys who spend hours upon hours with their cars, like the silver Saturn "sports car" neighbour up the street. Or women who aggressively push cosmetics for a living, striving hard to earn enough sales points to get formally invited to the yearly company gala and buying big, puffy, pink outfits for the occasion.
Life would be so much easier (and less Best of Ace of Base would be played loudly by annoying neighbours driving at top speeds up the street) if people could just be themselves from the getgo without fear of retribution from homophobes. With three boys, I think about this often. Spawnling, for example, is two thirds more likely to be gay than if he didn't have two older brothers. Don't believe me? Check out this study. It's done by a Canadian, so it's obviously correct.
People have asked me what I would do if one of my sons ended up being gay. One of those 'what if' conversations mothers have with other mothers when they're supposed to be out discussing anything but the kids. It's a ridiculous question to ask if you know me at all. I wouldn't 'do' anything. Nothing changes. I hope he falls in love, I hope he get married and I hope they have kids, if those are things that he wants out of life. I hope he's incredibly happy and is surrounded by people who love and support him, his dad and I being two of those people.
This whole 'OMFG SOMEONE IS GAY CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!??!?!?!?' stuff is becoming a thing of the past. The more Lance Bass' and Neil Patrick Harrises that come out, the less of a big deal it will become. It's like my personal goal to normalize breastfeeding. I nurse everywhere and anywhere because my doing so will hopefully make it easier for the next mother.
And what's up with that, anyway? People still suggest that mothers should nurse in public bathrooms. Um, ew. Once upon a time, when I was a young, easily intimidated thing, I used to sometimes take my baby into the restroom when he got hungry. One day, I realized how disgusted I'd feel if I had to bring my restaurant food in with me into the stall and proceeded to feel like an idiot for feeding my child in there. Funny how such obvious things go right over my head a good deal of the time.
In the last three weeks, I've breastfed pretty much everywhere and anywhere. If I've received any dirty looks or negative comments, I've been completely oblivious to them. Maybe I've been fortunate. Or maybe, just maybe, people are wisening up and becoming more accepting. Less stupid.
And maybe, just maybe, I'm actually 130lbs and a Swedish sex kitten. And while we're dreaming, I live in a really big house and the (sweet but not very attractive, especially to my husband) nanny plays with the children while I get paid to blog for a living.
Wow, that fantasy was almost better than sex.
Speaking of drugs and things you might see on them, my mom, AKA The Madre, is sick once again. The poor woman can never catch a break with those lungs of hers. She's on some pretty heavy-duty narcotics and steroids right now and everything is really, really funny.
Hmm...Come to think of it, that's probably why she likes my blog so much when she's ill. She could probably read something about the declining number of Pacific Salmon and find it hilarious right now.
I took Spawnling over last night to visit with the sick Madre, The Sister and the rest of the crew that made The Maven who she is today (I can't figure out if they deserve thank you notes or death threats. I go back and forth.)
Before we got there, my sister said to my youngest brother (he's 17 and has Down's Syndrome) "Michael! Jackson is coming over!"
To which Michael replied excitedly: "Michael Jackson is coming over?!"
The visit nearly drove The Sister insane. Every time the baby would make a face - any face at all - my mom would demand that my sister look at him. 'Look! Look! Oh my god, you're missing it! He's SLEEPING!' and 'Take a picture! Hurry! He's making a pouty face! Look at those hands. THE HANDS!' and 'He's LOOKING AT YOU and you're IGNORING HIM!'
This happened about thirty times. My poor sister showed incredible retraint. Huge props to her for knowing how to deal with the stoned.
The Madre also spent a good deal of the time holding my baby, burping him and telling me how gassy he was. Thanks, mom. Hadn't noticed. I've only had three kids so I'm kind of new at this parenting thing still.
House was good last night, but sad. Stupid House. Love that show, hate the sadness.
Well, the Spawnmeister just woke up, so I suppose I should go parent. Maybe I'll bring him over to my mom's so she can show me how to change a diaper. 'LOOK! LOOK! Aww, he's peeing on everything. Hurry! Get the camera!'
And incidentally, I've been dying to use that Harold and Kumar quote for a legitimate reason.
Undoubtedly moved by my post about the Wiggles, Neil Patrick Harris, lovingly known to many in my generation as Doogie Howser M.D., has come out of the proverbial closet and announced his sexuality to the world.
Actually, he was "lanced", according to Lance Bass' incredibly hot boyfriend. I love it when someone comes up with a new term like that. Good on you, Reichen.
I bet he feels better. I know I do. I had my suspicions as he generally plays womanizer roles these days, which gets my gaydar a bleepin'. It's like guys who spend hours upon hours with their cars, like the silver Saturn "sports car" neighbour up the street. Or women who aggressively push cosmetics for a living, striving hard to earn enough sales points to get formally invited to the yearly company gala and buying big, puffy, pink outfits for the occasion.
Life would be so much easier (and less Best of Ace of Base would be played loudly by annoying neighbours driving at top speeds up the street) if people could just be themselves from the getgo without fear of retribution from homophobes. With three boys, I think about this often. Spawnling, for example, is two thirds more likely to be gay than if he didn't have two older brothers. Don't believe me? Check out this study. It's done by a Canadian, so it's obviously correct.
People have asked me what I would do if one of my sons ended up being gay. One of those 'what if' conversations mothers have with other mothers when they're supposed to be out discussing anything but the kids. It's a ridiculous question to ask if you know me at all. I wouldn't 'do' anything. Nothing changes. I hope he falls in love, I hope he get married and I hope they have kids, if those are things that he wants out of life. I hope he's incredibly happy and is surrounded by people who love and support him, his dad and I being two of those people.
This whole 'OMFG SOMEONE IS GAY CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!??!?!?!?' stuff is becoming a thing of the past. The more Lance Bass' and Neil Patrick Harrises that come out, the less of a big deal it will become. It's like my personal goal to normalize breastfeeding. I nurse everywhere and anywhere because my doing so will hopefully make it easier for the next mother.
And what's up with that, anyway? People still suggest that mothers should nurse in public bathrooms. Um, ew. Once upon a time, when I was a young, easily intimidated thing, I used to sometimes take my baby into the restroom when he got hungry. One day, I realized how disgusted I'd feel if I had to bring my restaurant food in with me into the stall and proceeded to feel like an idiot for feeding my child in there. Funny how such obvious things go right over my head a good deal of the time.
In the last three weeks, I've breastfed pretty much everywhere and anywhere. If I've received any dirty looks or negative comments, I've been completely oblivious to them. Maybe I've been fortunate. Or maybe, just maybe, people are wisening up and becoming more accepting. Less stupid.
And maybe, just maybe, I'm actually 130lbs and a Swedish sex kitten. And while we're dreaming, I live in a really big house and the (sweet but not very attractive, especially to my husband) nanny plays with the children while I get paid to blog for a living.
Wow, that fantasy was almost better than sex.
Speaking of drugs and things you might see on them, my mom, AKA The Madre, is sick once again. The poor woman can never catch a break with those lungs of hers. She's on some pretty heavy-duty narcotics and steroids right now and everything is really, really funny.
Hmm...Come to think of it, that's probably why she likes my blog so much when she's ill. She could probably read something about the declining number of Pacific Salmon and find it hilarious right now.
I took Spawnling over last night to visit with the sick Madre, The Sister and the rest of the crew that made The Maven who she is today (I can't figure out if they deserve thank you notes or death threats. I go back and forth.)
Before we got there, my sister said to my youngest brother (he's 17 and has Down's Syndrome) "Michael! Jackson is coming over!"
To which Michael replied excitedly: "Michael Jackson is coming over?!"
The visit nearly drove The Sister insane. Every time the baby would make a face - any face at all - my mom would demand that my sister look at him. 'Look! Look! Oh my god, you're missing it! He's SLEEPING!' and 'Take a picture! Hurry! He's making a pouty face! Look at those hands. THE HANDS!' and 'He's LOOKING AT YOU and you're IGNORING HIM!'
This happened about thirty times. My poor sister showed incredible retraint. Huge props to her for knowing how to deal with the stoned.
The Madre also spent a good deal of the time holding my baby, burping him and telling me how gassy he was. Thanks, mom. Hadn't noticed. I've only had three kids so I'm kind of new at this parenting thing still.
House was good last night, but sad. Stupid House. Love that show, hate the sadness.
Well, the Spawnmeister just woke up, so I suppose I should go parent. Maybe I'll bring him over to my mom's so she can show me how to change a diaper. 'LOOK! LOOK! Aww, he's peeing on everything. Hurry! Get the camera!'